


stolen kisses and broken hearts

by wombatpop



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cafe AU, Coffee, Complete, Gay Bashing, M/M, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombatpop/pseuds/wombatpop
Summary: They talked - about baseball, about the weather, about coffee and traffic and windows. About anything, Donny thought, anything to keep talking to him.---accompanying playlist





	1. blue-eyed waiter

It’d been approaching an hour since he’d walked into this small Boston café to meet the pretty girl from three streets over. He’d been excited, nervous, sweaty hands clenching and unclenching under the table. But now his coffee was cold, the butterflies in his stomach had settled, and the chair across from him continued to be profoundly empty. 

A few tables over, an old man sits. His forehead is furrowed in concentration as he sips the remnants of his coffee, reading the newspaper; undoubtedly concerned over escalating political tensions.

“Another coffee, sir?”

The old man relaxes his wrinkled brow and smiles, politely refusing.  
The blue-eyed waiter nods, whisking away the menu and collecting another table’s dishes before Donny could catch his breath. Watching, he felt almost overwhelmed by the purpose and fluidity of the waiter’s movements, moving with a grace and ease that Donny couldn’t help but envy. Donny couldn’t move like that, he was strong and purposeful, but never graceful; only brash and gentle and clumsy.

“You’re pretty good at that.” He blurted.

He didn’t know what made him say it. Part of him was pushing for a connection, an offering to this figure that had seized his attention so completely.

The waiter smiled. Donny felt himself blush slightly, tensing.

“I’m the best in the business.”

Donny couldn’t help but grin a little too widely. The butterflies stirred again. Leaving the café, he looked back over his shoulder, his cheeks still flushed from the waiter’s smile, having left an extra dollar in his tip.


	2. cravings / stolen kisses

Donny found himself craving coffee more often since his unfortunate date.  
The waiter, Smithson, seemed more than happy to learn Donny’s order, and give him a good table whenever he was on shift – which seemed to coincide to Donny’s coffee cravings quite often. He found that Smithson’s level-headed manner relaxed him, eased the state of anxiety he seemed to constantly be in. They talked - about baseball, about the weather, about coffee and traffic and windows. About anything, Donny thought, anything to keep talking to him.  
Donny knew it would be reprimanded. He knew that his mother would think it was wrong. He tried to pretend it was nothing. He tried to be numb, or angry, or anything. But mostly he was afraid. He was terrified.  
So he didn’t think about it. He didn’t think about it when he kept coming back after weeks, months. He didn’t think about it when he stared, or when he and Smithson started staying outside the café, talking long after it had closed. He didn’t think about his beating heart, or the way his breath stopped when Smithson and he were caught in the rain one afternoon, or how he’d never felt like this about anyone, anyone else. He didn’t think about how he dreamed of a place where Smithson and he could be in peace, a place of sunshine and endless coffee cups. He didn’t think about his mother’s comments on his new habit. He didn’t think about the shivers that ran down his spine when Smithson spoke his name.

He stopped himself from thinking when he took Smithson’s hand and their lips met behind the café that brought them together.


	3. absence

It’d just been him, and Smithson, and something so beautiful and so unable to be named, until he’d returned to the sharp, bursting starkness of reality.

Smithson wasn’t on his usual shift. He’d been absent for three days now.

Donny tried to stop himself from being concerned, but he felt revolting, sick with worry. Almost unconsciously, he walked past the café every afternoon, checking desperately for any sign of him. Had he done something wrong? Donny began to clench and unclench his hands constantly, fretfully. The pit of his stomach bubbled like it did before. He’d be angry if not for the overwhelming dread that crept along his ribcage. How could Smithson disappear like this?

After six days missing, Smithson finally returned. Donny almost called out to him as he entered the cafe; his heart galloped in his chest, shoulders so tense relaxed in relief. But as Smithson raised his head, Donny hesitated. There was something wrong. A cheek a little too red to be simply flushed. An eye too purple for tiredness. Donny’s heart stopped. His veins fizzed with a rising anger.  
He knew exactly what had happened.

Smithson gestured to a table with a wilted smile. Donny sat in a stupor. It was disgusting. Disgusting what they had done to Smithson. His left cheek was red and split along his cheekbone. A dark shadow ran along either side of his nose bridge. Donny felt as though his throat might explode.

Smithson brought him his coffee, and they looked at each other. They didn’t speak that day. But they both knew what the other wanted to say.

After Donny had left, he couldn’t stop Smithson’s face racing around his mind, blood and discoloured skin and he _shuddered _. This couldn’t be happening, it **wasn't** happening. Donny promised, he swore to himself he would stop going back. For both their sakes. But he didn’t. He couldn’t go back to how it was before. He couldn’t, even though he could see that Smithson saw his promise as easily as if it were written on his forehead. Despite the moments that they shared, Donny knew that which kept them separated, hiding in backstreets and shadows, was far greater than either of them. __

__

__

____ _ _

____And then the war started, and suddenly there were more things to worry about than stolen kisses and broken hearts._ _ _ _


	4. broken hearts

**[ Donowitz, Donny. Staff Sergeant, US Army. Died in Action. ] ******

Smithson couldn’t get the words out of his head. He knew before he’d asked that he wouldn’t like the answer to his inquiry. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Donny had been alive. Whatever he would have done, it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter now.

He clenched his hands into fists, a gesture he knew so well, skin squealing, overstretched. His hands were cold, despite the sun shining down upon him. It felt like only yesterday that he and Donny were together, in their own little patch of paradise, so insecure and fleeting. And now everything had been torn from their grasp, souls lost to an infinite stretch of sea, so dark and deep, begun and approved by men who valued supremacy over sanity.

“What can I get you?”

Smithson opened his eyes.

“Just, a coffee. Thanks.”

The waiter nodded. Smithson took a moment to observe. The waiter, taking orders and wiping down tables, had a process not unlike Smithson’s own.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

The waiter smiled.

“I’m the best in the business.”

Smithson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did nothing. His lungs suddenly felt empty, a vastness between his ribs filled with nothing but stale air. His throat was filled with honey, his head with lead, his heart screamed, a desperation, a repulsion, an anguish pumping through every cell, ringing in his ears.

There’s nothing he can do now. Nothing but sip his coffee, savour the heat crawling down his chest, holding tightly to the memories of those consumed.

That day, Smithson left an extra dollar in his tip.

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing in the wiki or anywhere else I looked that lists Utivich's birthplace - so I thought it wouldn't be too unrealistic to have him live in a small town in Massachusetts, and for him to decide to come to Boston to work. :)


End file.
